


sleep on my heart tonight

by lumineres



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Italy, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, thats it thats the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumineres/pseuds/lumineres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis takes.<br/>Harry gives.<br/>They meet in Venice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sleep on my heart tonight

**Author's Note:**

> i was in venice and i KNEW i was going to get a fic idea and here we are  
> this is like 99.9% dialogue i have a problem i can't write anything other than dialogue  
> title from [ this ](http://stylesforstiles.tumblr.com/post/84672988776/stay-rest-next-to-me-dont-go-ill-watch-over) i tried my very hardest to find the poem but i couldnt so here i thought it was fitting that it was an italian poet  
> betaed by the loveliest of lovelies [ rachel ](http://gardenlouis.tumblr.com) send her cookies she's amazing  
> im not really sure how i feel about this fic, i dont think it's my best work, but let me know what you think!

As Louis shrugs on his jacket and walks out of the apartment, he wonders how his family are still under the delusion that he's a waiter at some pizza joint. Really, the first clue to them should be that he hasn't gotten fired yet. He's never been able to hold down a steady job. Like step-father like son.

With a huff, he kicks a pebble off one of the many bridges he crosses everyday.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bitter about his current employment situation. At twenty-fucking-one, shouldn't he be in uni? No, that would be just silly wouldn't it? Why send your eldest son to uni when you can live in one of the most expensive cities in Italy? Perfectly logical. Instead he's a god damned pickpocket.

Well, he did always dream of being a criminal when he was younger. But it's a lot less glamorous in real life.

 _At least it's something I'm good at_ , he thinks cynically, removing the change from the side pocket of a woman's purse and continuing on. He never was that fantastic in school, repeated one year. He could have been though, really, he just didn't feel like it. He supposes he's _okay_ at football, but that didn't get him anywhere. So. Yeah. Pickpocketing. What a joy.

He's about to pass by the third gelato place of the morning when he sees it. Wallet, a blatant wallet. Tucked into the back pocket of some black jeans. The jeans are tight- jesus, are they painted on?- but not so tight that Louis can't get the wallet out. Two and a half or so years of self taught techniques run through his mind quickly, before he begins to move toward the small crowd of people around the gelato stand. It's a classic, bump into the guy with the tight jeans and the thick wallet to distract him, pick it out in the process, shove it into his own much deeper and baggier pocket.

And it works like a charm, the wallet hits the bottom of his pocket less than a second after his arm meets the warm skin of the boy's. He's about to keep walking, like usual, but the voice stops him.

" _Scusi_." He's obviously an English boy- too slow, like molasses, like batter, wide eyed and trusting, knowing you’ll bake him perfectly at 350 degrees. Louis’ not good with metaphors. He’s a pickpocket, not a poet. Anyway, this curly haired boy is decidedly not a native Italian speaker. Not that Louis is native himself, he’s a Yorkshire boy originally but his stepdad got a job in Venice three years back and dragged everyone out here. Lost the job within a year, he did. So Louis needed some money, money he didn’t have but other people did.

And it's not like he takes the money to buy himself, like, candy or those spiderman vans he _really really_ loves, he takes it for groceries and clothes and the occasional cone of gelato for the girls when he wants to be a good brother. It's just- survival of the fittest, he supposes. And at this current point in time, Louis is the fittest and the boy in front of him is devoid of a wallet. Natural selection and shit.

Louis is about to say that it's okay, and to let the boy know he doesn't have to strain himself and speak in a language that isn't his own, but he finally registers the boy's face. He's all soft corners and rounded features, but still with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a shadowed jawline. Louis'd already been looking at his eyes, but now he actually sees them. Green, impossibly green, light and dark all at once and framed by long eyelashes. And his mouth, slightly parted like he's waiting for something. His top lip is the prettiest Cupid's bow Louis has ever seen and only slightly thinner than his bottom lip, both look soft and pillowy, lining a wide mouth that fits his voice.

Louis isn't the type to fall in love or lust with strangers, really, but he'd be inhuman if this boy didn't affect him at all.

"It's okay, really." Louis assures him, and tries to wrench his mind and body away to continue on with his life.

"Oh! You speak English! That makes everything easier, I'm sorry for bumping into you. I'm rather clumsy." The boy says, and if he was slow in Italian, this is like an aesthetically pleasing tortoise is talking to Louis.

"It's alright, I bumped into you. I should be going." Louis gestures with his thumb in the opposite direction he actually meant to go.

"No, no let me buy you gelato!" The boy insists, gesturing to the ten euro in his hand. And really, who is Louis to refuse free gelato? Maybe that's why his arse is so big.

"Please?" The boy adds, and some curls on the top of his head quiver.

"Yeah, okay, why not?" _Because I have your wallet in my pocket._ The boy beams and holds out his hand, "'m Harry."

"Louis." Louis smiles and shakes his hand, something unpleasant twisting in his gut.

"Nice to meet you Louis." Harry's green eyes sweep up and down Louis' body and- is he checking him out? This is really taking a turn. But it's not in, like, an asshole-y way. Not a 'I want you to give me a dirty blow job in some alley and I'll give you a half assed hand job in return' way but a 'I want to respect you and take you out to dinner and then make love to you' sort of way. Louis has become a very good people reader in his two and a half years of pickpocketing.

The woman running the gelato station says _ciao_ and breaks Louis away from his thoughts.

" _Ciao!_ Can I have a banana and coconut?" Harry asks, and the woman looks confused for a moment. Louis would think that working in a gelato place in _Venice_ , tourist-everywhere _Venice_ , she'd be able to speak some English. Apparently not. He steps forward and translates and she makes Harry his cone.

"Thank you." Harry smiles.

"No problem." Louis replies, and he can't help but smile back, because god this boy is just so _open_. Louis can read him like a book. His eyes might as well be windows into his thoughts.

Then it's Louis' turn to order and he gets coffee and caramel. When he turns back to Harry, there's already sticky, white gelato dribbled on his chin and Louis tries to see it as just ice cream, but jesus fucking christ that's a Herculean task. His mouth might be opening and closing like a fish's for a while, and Harry might notice because his dimple pops into his cheek, like he's trying to hold back a grin.

They move out of line to let the other customers order and Louis takes the first lick of his gelato. He likes that caramel and coffee are nearly the same color so it's always a surprise as to which one he's getting. The bitterness in the first lick tells him it's coffee, but he doesn't really notice anything but Harry's eyes following his tongue like his life depends on it.

So, okay, sexual tension with a stranger he's just pickpocketed. First time for everything, and whatnot.

"Well, I'd better go, and stuff." Louis says. Under normal circumstances (normal circumstances not being meeting this boy via stealing his wallet) Louis would totally stay and see where all the mouth looking and white liquids would take them, but in this case it feels like the wallet in his back pocket is radiating heat into his butt- and not the good kind. Not that he'd stick a wallet up his asshole. There's been some strange things up there, namely hairbrush handles, the handle of his vibrating toothbrush, and the end of one of those stupidly thick sharpies one time when he was _really_ desperate, but never a wallet, promise.

"Wait, it's Saturday. You can't have, like, anything _that_ important to do? I mean, unless you do, like, actually have important things to do. Maybe you work on weekends, sorry, right, I'll let you go." Harry babbles, and something tugs at Louis' heartstrings. So, what, he's going to let this pretty boy pay for him to eat gelato, steal his wallet, and not even have a proper conversation with him? Louis may be a criminal, but his mother actually did a good job on his manners.

So he lies. "Oh! I thought it was Sunday, I'm actually free." Just a little white lie, won't hurt anything. And it seems to make this delicate, rosy-petaled flower of a boy very, very happy. What is a guy supposed to do when there's shiny, wide green eyes suddenly squinting in a huge grin like that? Well, suddenly feel just that much worse about having his wallet in your pocket, for one.

"Great! 'Cause, like, you live here, right?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, I do, I moved here three years ago."

"Cool, I really have no idea where I am or where are the best places to go and someone who knows what they're doing would be really helpful." Harry looks hopeful, like he's seconds away from pushing out his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes.

"So you want me to be your tour guide?" Louis laughs.

"And my friend." Harry adds.

"What are you, five?"

"Nineteen, actually." He corrects him. Louis can't help but laugh again. He takes Harry in, standing there with his feet pressed together, one hand tucked into his long sleeve shirt and the other dwarfing the gelato cone he holds, curls flopping every which way and wrapped in a bright blue and red headscarf, pink lips slick with ice cream and eyes bright and hopeful.

"Yeah, alright, let's go." Louis decides, and Harry smiles again. Somewhere in his chest, Louis feels his heart flutter, and god if Harry keeps smiling at him like that he's going to end the day with a heart attack. His smile- it's just like, perfectly crooked. Like every description in all the teen romance novels Louis has read to make sure it was appropriate for his sisters. Toothy and wide with one side lifting higher than the other, and then the god damned _dimples_ , just popping into sunkissed skin and making Louis' mind scramble. He keeps going back and forth between being sexually attracted to Harry and wanting to fill his dimples with chocolate sauce. The problem with that, too, is that the two feelings can combine into one fantasy and the chocolate sauce ends up in other places.

He's said, what, twenty words to this guy? Why is he thinking about chocolate sauce in his belly button and lower, lower. (Why is he thinking about chocolate sauce on ice cream curled up together on a couch watching Friends reruns?) (Why is he thinking at all? Stop that.)

"Where to first?" Harry asks, and Louis notes that they've started walking. He has no recollection of that.

"I usually like to go into little shops in the back streets, stay away from big crowds." He doesn't add the _in my time off_ , because then Harry would ask him what he did for a living. Normally, the big tourist crowds are exactly what he needs. Concealment, loud voices, if someone noticed he could easily disappear. Sometimes his height really helped, too. Not that he was _that short_ but he could easily hide behind someone taller and larger. Quite like the curly fellow next to him. Maybe they could be partners (the other meanings behind that word spark in Louis' brain, but he tries to ignore it) and Harry could just stand by and help Louis out. But he doesn't look like the type that's into, like, stealing people's money.

Then again, Louis isn't either. It's survival. Habit, now. He could easily get a job at an actual pizza joint, but the thing is, he _knows_ how to do this. He doesn't need to learn an entirely new skill set and customer service, he's okay just taking what he needs. No more, no less. He's not as bad as some pickpockets he's seen. They steal passports, credit cards, and money right out of people's hands. Some people aren't just pickpockets, but actors and actresses. He sees hunched over women walking with canes and shaking hands and begging for any spare change, and then the next second they straighten up, count their earnings, and stride away with the cane completely obsolete.

Louis likes to convince himself he's one of the good guys. Sometimes it works, but every time he counts the money (not _his_ money, _the_ money) at night the thin veneer is shattered. Sometimes he cries. All the time he hates himself. But when he can buy his sister sneakers so she can be on her school's girls football team or his newest baby brother tiny t shirts with superheros on them, it's better. Not perfect, but better.

Harry breaks Louis out of his little inward pity party, "Little shops sound nice, I'm actually looking for something specific. You know those little padlocks people put on bridges?"

"Yeah, the love locks, I know them." Louis has seen a lot, he thinks they're beautiful.

"I want to buy a pair sometime today."

"Oh, is your girlfriend here with you?" Louis asks, and his chest feels like it deflates.

"No, just in case." Harry frowns slightly, eyes boring through Louis' own pupils. Harry's eyes are slightly dilated, Louis notes, and he likes the flecks of gold mixed in with the green of his irises. Maybe he should respond, instead of just creepily staring into his eyes.

"You plan on meeting a girl before you leave? How long are you here for?"

"I could meet a boy." Harry says adamantly, and the helium expands Louis' ribcage again. When he doesn't respond, Harry asks, "What about you, any of those locks have your name on them?"

"No, haven't met the right guy yet." Louis answers not-so-slyly. He eats the pointed end of his cone and licks the gelato from his fingers. Harry's eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Maybe you have." He says flippantly and shrugs.

"Not very subtle, are you Curly?"

"I never claimed to be." He grins.

"So you are flirting with me, then?" He can't help the way the corners of his mouth curl up.

"Sure am, and you're flirting right back." Harry looks positively elated.

"Guilty." The smile is audible in Louis' voice. They just grin at each other while they walk for a moment, before Louis remembers what the weight in his pocket is and it's like the world crashes down on his skull. He can't just give it back, what would he say? _Oh I think this jumped out of your pocket into mine?_ Likely.

So, what, he's going to spend however much time with this stupidly trusting, wide eyed, pretty boy and keep his wallet the whole time? Apparently so. Guilt knots in his throat, and he tries his best to swallow it down.

Harry's knuckles keep brushing Louis' as they walk, and if Louis were paying more attention to it, he'd wonder if Harry was trying to hold his hand. It's really rather a lovely day, the sun is shining, the pigeons are cooing, there's gelato in his stomach, and he has some extra pep in his step because this attractive, curly-headed boy is admittedly flirting with him.

The street they're on isn't very crowded, just some kids with matching backpacks on a school trip taking pictures and some pigeons. Louis knows this street, he's quite well acquainted with it. He's well acquainted with a lot of the city, actually, it'll be sad when it sinks.

Rounding a bend, Louis says, "This one's a good book store, if you wanna go in. Not just books, they have nice, cheap pens. This is where I get pens for my sisters after summer break."

"Sure, I like bookstores." Harry says, grabbing the handle of the door. He pulls it open and waves Louis in front of him.

"Proper gentleman, you are." Louis teases, but walks in anyway.

"My mum taught me to treat my dates right." Harry says as the door swings closed, and then his eyes widen and he clamps his mouth shut.

"Date? I wasn't informed that this was a date." Some part of Louis, the part that's not absolutely, positively enamored with this fumbling goofball of a boy, wonders if he should be offended or concerned or something. That part is very, very small. It just hasn't been converted to Harry-ism yet.

"I-it could be? Like, if you want it to? Be a date, I mean." Harry scuffs his feet and interlocks his fingers in front of him.

And because Louis is the person he is, he says, "We'll see."

It's totally a date.

And Louis totally kisses on the first date.

"Okay, yeah, I can respect that." Harry replies, nodding, as they make their way to the bookshelves. Louis pulls one out and skims the description before putting it back in favor of watching Harry pull out book after book, glance at the inside cover, tighten his eyebrow muscles further, and put the novel back.

"Hey, Lou, these are all in Italian."

"Might be because we're in Italy."

"Well, yeah, I mean I know that. I don't know why I expected anything different." Harry frowns at the bookshelf like it wronged him.

"There's other stuff too." Louis tells him, putting back the translated version of _Fifty Shades of Grey._

"Yeah, you said pens, right?"

"And notebooks, nice leather bound ones." Louis tells him, and Harry lights up. Seriously, his ears might as well perk up like a dog's would.

"My favorite journal is almost out of pages! Could you show me where they are?" Harry asks, shelving the book in his hand. Louis takes Harry by the wrist and leads him to the notebook display. Harry looks like a kid in a candy store, absolutely delighted and overwhelmed. He reaches out and touches one hesitantly, like it's something precious that could crumble.

Louis decides not to comment, just looks at the display of magazines on the same table while Harry browses.

"So you mentioned sisters?" Harry asks, still examining one of the notebooks.

"Yeah, I've got five and one brother. And a half-sister, but I don't see her very much."

"God, full house then?"

"Very." Louis huffs, "My mum just had the newest set of twins a couple months ago, gave me my first brother and the fifth sister. S'getting a bit hectic, but I do whatever I can to help out, like, money, and stuff."

Harry looks up suddenly then with an expression Louis can't quite place.

"What about you, any siblings?" Louis asks, feeling his face flush under Harry's gaze.

"Just one sister, Gemma, she's older. And smarter. And better. You know how older siblings are."

"Ah, I'm the oldest, so I don't actually."

"Well you love them, but they suck." Harry laughs.

"Oi! As an oldest sibling I am offended." Louis teases, a smile spreading on his lips reflexively. Something about Harry's joy is just so contagious.

Harry smiles for a bit longer before holding up a brown leather notebook, "I'm gonna get this one, I'll just be a mo." Louis nods and reads the front cover of another magazine. Sex tips, 'how to tell if he's cheating', and diets. Blah blah blah.

He looks up to watch Harry at the register and- fuck. Panic flashes through Louis, because Harry's going to reach for his wallet and _Louis' going to have it_. What then? Harry won't want anything to do with him ever again, that's what. Maybe it's for the best. If this- this _thing_ , whatever it is, went anywhere, he'd have to find out anyway. Louis would have to give his wallet back at some point. So better to break the news early, Louis supposes, save himself from too many sad feelings later. But-

Harry pulls out a second wallet.

Fucking _tourists_.

Louis watches as Harry pulls out a twenty euro, but it looks like that's all that's left.

Louis either has to wrap this up or not do anything that involves money. Wrapping it up is probably the best option, save himself some emotions (he runs through the possibilities: guilt, sadness, remorse, self-loathing) when Harry inevitably realizes.

Harry makes his way back, swinging his small plastic bag cheerfully.

"Shall we make our way out?" He asks when he's near enough, but Louis heard 'make' and 'out' and forgot everything in between.

"Yeah, yeah, let's." Now he can't stop looking at Harry's lips. He wonders what they would feel like, pressed to his own, or on his neck, or wrapped around his cock-

 _No_. This ends today, and Louis doesn't plan on doing anything sexual with someone he's just met that day. The realization burns like bile in the back of his throat, acrid. This ends today. After today, if he manages to escape without Harry realizing he took his wallet, he'll never see him again. If they exchange numbers Louis could never call and he would ignore any that came for him. He'd have to.

"Hey, you alright?" Harry asks, looking at him with those ever-furrowing eyebrows. What is it with him and that?

"Yeah I'm fine, just-" he scrambles for something, "-gassy."

Louis Tomlinson, ladies and gentlemen, pickpocket and charmer extraordinaire.

Someone should throw tomatoes at him like in the cartoons.

"Not gassy. I didn't mean that. When you've been speaking Italian for three years sometimes you mess up in English, you know? I meant thinking. They're quite similar in Italian, you know, honest mistake." Backpedaling, that's another thing he's good at. Add it to the list. (And 'gassy' and 'thinking' are not similar. At all.)

"Honest mistake." Harry nods, like he completely accepts the bullshit that Louis just spewed everywhere.

Louis is such a fucking idiot.

"Hey, want some pizza?" Harry asks, pointing to the small pizza place a couple feet ahead. It's almost cut out of the wall, like a cave. There's no door, and it's not very big. There's a fluorescent blinking sign that says 'pizza'. Louis' been here before, it's cheap and each pizza slice is, like, the size of a small dog.

"We just got gelato. Normally dessert is, like, after dinner."

"You don't look like someone who cares about that all that much." Harry says.

"Is that a joke about my big bum?" Louis teases, knowing Harry didn't mean it that way.

Harry's eyes widen comically, "I-I, no, I haven't even noticed your bum."

"Yes you have, everyone notices my bum. It's my best feature." Louis grins, "But yeah, sure, pizza sounds great."

"You're right. I did notice it." Harry admits. Louis just smiles and walks forward into the pizza place. There's no line, so they go right up and both order a slice of cheese pizza.

"Let me pay." Harry says, stopping Louis when he pulls out his second wallet (what an absolute _loser,_ god. His cuteness is really just enraging) and takes a tenner, presumably from his change from the notebook.

He pays the man and he hands them their pizzas.

"Holy-" Harry gapes at the ginormous slice in his hand. "This is like- this is the size of, like-"

"A small dog?" Louis finishes, giggling.

"Yeah, oh my god, I love Italy." Harry takes a bite off the tip and his eyelids flutter closed, and then he makes this absolutely _pornographic_ groan.

Louis keeps having to remind himself he literally met this boy like forty-five minutes ago. When he stole his wallet.

(The problem is he feels like he's known him for forever.) (Which is weird because he doesn't know anything about him. Like, at all. He likes pizza and banana and coconut gelato. And tight pants. Really tight pants.)

"So, Harold, tell me about yourself. Other than the fact that you have a sister." Louis says, swallowing his bite of pizza. They sit at the one table in the tiny restaurant and Louis cradles his chin in his interlocked fingers.

"Not much to tell." Harry says around a bite.

"I don't believe you."

"Well then, what do you want to know?"

"Tell me your last name, favorite color, shoe size, height, what brings you to Venice like business or pleasure, your first real crush and all about them, and are you a cat or dog person?" Louis says quickly, all his favorite things to know about a person. Though shoe size was only added in so he could decide if Harry has a big dick or if he stuffs his jeans.

Really, though, Louis honest to god isn't usually like this.

"Okay..." Harry drawls, thinking, "My last name is Styles, my favorite color is turquoise because I can't decide between green and blue, I'm a size eleven, I'm about six foot, depends where I get measured and what my hair is doing that day. What was the next thing?"

"Business or pleasure?" Louis asks, tucking his tongue behind one of his molars when he sees Harry blush.

"Pleasure." Despite the rosiness of his cheeks and the way his eyes widened, his voice is surprisingly even. Deep, molten.

"Mhm." Is all Louis gives in response.

"Um, I'm a cat person but I like dogs too. And my first crush was in pre-school but Caroline didn't count, she worked at the day care I went to and she was twenty, so. So my first real crush would be- what's your last name?"

"Tomlinson." Louis' pizza is long forgotten, he can't seem to stop smiling long enough to take a bite.

"So my first real crush was Louis Tomlinson."

"Love at first wallet steal." Is what Louis almost says, and it's like his happiness was sap and he was a tree and someone stuck a tap into him. There's a soreness in his gut like it's draining out of his belly button.

"And how does he feel?" He replies, trying to push the negativity away.

"Mutual, we've discussed it."

"Have you now?" Louis raises his eyebrows.

"Well, not in so many words, but I'm pretty sure."

"You're a cocky one, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

Louis walked right into that one, didn't he?

Eventually they stop flirting long enough to actually eat their cooling pizza. There's idle chit chat between bites, but nothing major. Louis isn't paying too much attention, actually, because the wallet seems like it's getting hot, increasingly so, with every passing second. Louis is genuinely concerned that he is going to have a scar in the shape of a wallet seared into his ass.

And every second that the wallet gets hotter, Harry just gets more and more endearing and the more guilt weaves into Louis' ribs. Tighter, tighter on his lungs.

And the seconds continue- so many seconds. Moments frozen in frames in his mind- a candy shop, Harry giving change to 'a homeless man' Louis knows is _not_ homeless, Harry tripping over a pigeon, comparing tattoos (Harry's all professionally done, some Louis' done by his mate Zayn as practice), laughing a lot, learning about each other, singing _Don't Stop Believing_ for some reason Louis can't remember for the life of him, and now. Now, leaning on the railing of a bridge over the canal, the sun beginning to set.

Harry looks positively breathtaking in the late afternoon light. It's ethereal, almost, how the light hits his skin. There's so many more colors than brown in his hair, glinting and shifting. His eyes are washed gold my the sun and his eyelashes cast long shadows. The way his lips move when he says, "It's beautiful here."

Louis agrees, but doesn't look away.

And he makes his decision, then. He'll go through whatever shit is thrown at him later for the moments of happiness he can have with Harry right now.

So he reaches out and interlocks his fingers with Harry's.

Harry looks at him with this expression on his face that Louis can't quite pinpoint. The only word Louis can think if is _awe_. Like Harry is in awe of the fact that Louis is holding his hand. Which not only is it incredibly flattering, he looks even prettier. Full lips parted, eyes wide, dilated, green, open.

Harry looks down at their entwined fingers then and suddenly an ear-to-ear grin spreads on his face.

"It's a date." Louis says quietly. Harry looks back up at him, still grinning like a loon, and he can't seem to stop smiling long enough to actually respond, so he squeezes Louis' hand.

"God, I wanna kiss you so bad." Harry finally manages, "But I'll be traditional and wait til the end of the date."

"You have some mighty self control, I'm struggling here." Louis admits, squeezing Harry's hand back.

"Maybe a gondola ride will take your mind off it?" Harry suggests. Louis is about to respond when Harry adds, "But I don't have enough euros for that, so I'm going to need my other wallet back."

Louis' jaw might as well unhinge it drops open so much and his whole body seizes up. He knows? How long has he known? How did he find out? Is Louis imagining things? What the fuck?

"How- What- How did you know?" He finally manages to get the words out, shock still tingling in his spine. His palm is suddenly sweaty against Harry's, and the wallet is singing with heat in his pocket.

"I saw you take some lady's change and I thought you were cute so I put my wallet in my pocket to try and lure you over. It worked." Harry is far too happy for someone who is holding hands with a _criminal_.

"Oh my god. And you trusted your flirting skills enough to know I wouldn't just run off with it?" Louis is incredulous, absolutely incredulous. This- this _idiot_. This absolutely adorable _idiot_ let him steal his wallet.

"No, actually, not really. I figured if you were pickpocketing, you probably needed the money. But I hoped, you know, that, like, I could seduce you, or whatever." Harry's blushing now, "Like, seduce you as in get you to like me, not seduce you like sex seduce you. This is a mess I'm sorry."

" _You're_ sorry? I stole your wallet!"

"Well, okay, yeah there's that." Harry concedes. Louis lets a hysterical giggle bubble to his lips, and he raises his other, non-occupied hand to his mouth to catch it.

"You, Harry Styles," Louis had learned his last name in the candy shop, "are incredible."

"So is that a yes to the gondola ride?" Harry asks.

"Yes, absolutely." Louis says, then fishes in his pocket. "Here." He hands him the wallet and suddenly it's like this huge weight has been taken off of him, like he hasn't breathed for the past two years. Giving something back- it's the best fucking feeling in the world. He didn't know just how shitty he was feeling until the moment he started to feel better. His hand is shaking when Harry takes the wallet from him, like after lifting something heavy for a long time and putting it down.

The sun has dipped below the horizon now, but it's still light and the sky is still streaked with peach and pink, like Harry's mouth and skin. The air is warm with the residue of the sun, and Louis can let it in his pores, he can feel it, he can let himself be happy. He can let anything in, he doesn't have to ever hide anything again. He's done with this, done with being a criminal and done with taking and never giving.

"So we're going? I know how to get there." Harry says.

"Yeah," Louis smiles, "Let's go."

They start walking, fingers still interlocked. The buzzing happiness is still fluttering in Louis' throat and he never wants this day to end, he wants it to be today for forever.

"I still can't believe you let me steal your wallet." Louis shakes his head, laughing, absolutely giddy.

Harry squeezes his hand, "You should have seen your face when you took that woman's change, though. You were just so, like, hate-y."

"Hate-y?"

"That's obviously not a word, but you just looked so, like, like you just hated yourself and you were so sad. I just thought, I dunno, like maybe you didn't want to do what you were doing, you just had to. I figured whether or not we ended up like this," Harry swings their hands to show what he means, "it'd be okay because you clearly needed money. And I had some to spare, so."

Louis meant what he said earlier, about Harry Styles being incredible.

He doesn't know what to even say to that, so he just leans his head on Harry's shoulder and hopes that's enough, hopes it conveys all the feelings swirling in his veins well enough- all of them good, for once.

They reach the gondolas in twenty minutes, thank god, because Louis' feet are beginning to ache from all the walking they've done. He's pretty used to it, unless Harry walks a lot too Louis think his feet probably started hurting ages ago. Maybe it explains all the tripping, but he also could just be clumsy.

(He hopes he has a chance to find out.)

There isn't a line, surprisingly, for the gondolas so Harry steps up and pays, completely ignoring Louis' protests and assurances that he can pay.

"You should have at least let me pay for mine, if not both." Louis pouts.

"Nope, now that this is officially a date I am paying for everything."

"But you already paid for everything."

"Well now I'm paying for even more everything." As if that makes sense.

They walk onto the small dock next to the third loading station when they're waved through.

"Hey! Lou! Who's this?" Louis hears and looks up to see Zayn. Louis walks forward and steps into the gondola, then helps Harry in. The boat is rather unsteady, but despite being as clumsy as Louis thinks Harry might be, it doesn't capsize.

"Oh, hey mate, this is Harry, my, erm, date." Louis blushes. Zayn looks between them for a moment before a mischievous smile curls his lips. Louis hardens his eyes at him, a silent _don't you dare_.

"Is this the guy who did your tattoos?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, yeah sorry that was rude of me. Harry, this is my mate Zayn. Zayn, meet Harry." Louis says, doing the classic introduction gestures.

"So you're an aspiring tattoo artist and a gondolier?" Harry asks, settling down on one side of the plush, two-person seat.

Louis huffs, "And a singer and an artist and a model. He's a man of many talents."

Zayn just shrugs his shoulders and grins, a modest gesture but with a very not-so-modest undertone.

As they start moving Zayn starts humming, a tune that's familiar to Louis but he can't quite place, and Harry intertwines their fingers again. And suddenly Harry bursts out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" Louis asks, laughing only because Harry is.

"He's humming Bella Notte, like from Lady and the Tramp." Harry giggles, and Louis' mind whirs with the startling parallels. If only they'd had spaghetti.

 _"Oh this is the night, it's a beautiful night..."_ Zayn croons, and Louis would really like to push him off the god damned gondola. (How is he a gondolier if he can't swim?) But then again, if his cruel joke is making Harry smile and his eyes sparkle like they are, maybe he can let him live.

The moon is reflecting on the water and _god_ Louis' lived here the past three years and it's never looked so beautiful. But maybe it's because the fire in his back pocket has been traded for pleasant warmth between his fingers and Harry's red velvet cake batter voice near Louis' ear mumbling nonsense about the sinking of Venice and how "it's gonna be the next Atlantis because by the time it sinks they'll probably have really awesome technology to live underwater" and maybe it's the way his eyes are washed silver, now, by the moon, and maybe it's the pull, the gravity he's feeling. Like it would go against the very laws of nature if he didn't fall, fall.

Harry's lips are pillowy against his own, like they'd looked earlier. Still slightly parted because he had been in the middle of a sentence. They're slightly chapped too, Louis notes, but it makes the friction of their mouths even more earth-shattering. There's lights behind Louis' eyelids, jumping with each taste of Harry's tongue. It only takes Harry a moment to lift his hands up to cup Louis' jaw, and Louis melts into the kiss more, nearly wrapping his arms around Harry's neck. He wants Harry everywhere, he wants to feel him in every way he possibly can and he wants to feel this happy for forever, he wants Harry's tongue and his lips pressed to his own all the time. He wants to memorize every nook and cranny of Harry's mouth and every dip in his back and every span of skin and every color in every strand of hair in every kind of sunlight. And he wants Harry to know him like no one's ever been able to, and he wants Harry in every moment, in every snapshot memory from here on out, and he wants Harry's fingers to have traced over every centimeter of his skin.

The kiss is the perfect balance of give and take.

When they pull apart, the first thing Louis registers is the elation in Harry's open eyes and he thinks that image will stay with him forever.

Second is that Zayn is still singing, and Louis knows him well enough to hear the smile in his voice.

Third is that Louis really wants to rest his head on Harry's shoulder for the rest of the ride, so he does. Harry holds his hand again and they just listen to Zayn and the quiet, calm lapping of the water.

"How long are you here for?" Louis whispers. He doesn't know why he feels the need to be quiet, maybe he just doesn't want to ruin the serenity of the night.

"I'm studying abroad for a semester, so something like six months."

Part of Louis feels like six months is forever, but the other part knows there's heartache waiting for him on the other end, he can feel it already. Instead of responding he kisses Harry's jaw. Which maybe is a little weird for the first date, but he can't be bothered to care.

After Zayn rows them back to the dock and he helps both of them out of the gondola, he pats Louis' back and says, "You deserve him," and for once, Louis might believe him. He's never thought he deserved anything, but maybe now he can try, try and be worthy of wonderful things like Harry. He just smiles in response and threads his fingers through Harry's. He leaves a tip in Zayn's little bucket, just a two euro coin. 

"Will you go back to that bridge with me?" Harry asks. Louis nods and squeezes Harry's hand. They talk quietly on the twenty minute walk, about useless, wonderful things. Harry has a cat at home, and a best friend named Niall. Niall is Irish. Harry's mum used to make pancakes every Sunday morning before he went to uni. Once he almost tried out for the x factor, but he chickened out. He's pigeon toed _and_ one of his legs is slightly shorter than the other _and_ he's clumsy, so there's excessive tripping. He washes his hands first in the shower.

And then they reach the bridge and Harry fishes in his back pocket and pulls out two padlocks, and Louis knows what that's for.

"That's, like, a forever kind of thing. We just met today." Louis says, staring at the tiny, silver locks that match Harry's tattoo beautifully.

"You know how there's an infinite amount of numbers between zero and one?"

"Yes, but how is that related to the fact you want to have a symbol of life long commitment with me? Are you like one of those crazy guys who proposes after like two months?" He rambles.

"Well some infinities are bigger than other infinities."

Something clicks.

"Did you read that fucking Joe Brown or whoever book my sisters are obsessed with?"

"Well- yeah. I cried a lot. But that's not the point, point is that even if we don't stay together forever, tonight will be forever in our memories and in the pictures I took on my phone and in the footprints we left around the city and in the carbon dioxide we exhaled and in the vibrations in the air from your laugh that could cause a hurricane half a word away. That's forever."

"What a sap." Louis says, smiling fondly anyway. He takes one of the locks from Harry and they fit them onto the bridge. They kiss as they snap the locks shut.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Harry moves to Venice full time a year after he left.)  
> (He's added another lock linked with his already tattooed one.)  
> (Louis waited for him and worked three jobs to save up enough money for an apartment.)  
> (Every year they go back and fix up the sharpie writing.)  
> (When they get too old their kids do it for them.)
> 
>  
> 
> comments and kudos make me v v v v v v v v v v happy!!!  
> on tumblr at welllngton


End file.
